


Patron Saint

by susiephalange



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Assistant!Reader, Blushing, Editor!Kylo Ren, Emotions, F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Fluff, Writer!Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 16:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7446553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armitage Hux Jnr. is a author, just like his father, and his father before him. Reader, is his faithful assistant, and on days like today, he needs someone (you) to help through the rough patches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patron Saint

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from my favourite Regina Spektor song, Patron Saint.

The typing never seemed to cease. Armitage Hux was a very studious man, and an acclaimed author, following in the footsteps of his father, who held the same name as himself. From sunup, to sundown, he rose and stayed by the laptop, his thin fingers fast across the keys. There were not many people who could be in his vicinity - the writer said people were distractions, and being in and around the race of men and their lives was tedious. The only people who truly interacted with Armitage was his editor, Kylo Ren, and you, his assistant. 

The thing was, being an assistant to the most prestigious name in every bookstore across the country meant one thing; you too were by Armitage's side, for every waking moment of his life. It meant waking an hour before daybreak, and fetching a coffee from Martin downtown in the deli cafe (who opened earlier because of your habit, and a good bottle of wine every year), you would make it to his penthouse above the sprawling city, and go quick to work. 

Today, as you make it past security (as always, greeting Josie on your way up) and into Armitage Hux Jnr's foyer, you shiver. Not from anticipation, or lack thereof; the large window that looks over the city is open, and blows a breeze upon the entire of the room, blowing the paper-plated tables and shelves around. 

"Mr Hux!" You shout. 

At once, you rush to the window, and dropping the fetched coffee onto the kitchen bench, you stumble over your feet to the glass. With a shove, the window is closed once again, and the great winds of the city are not inside the interior of the penthouse. Your eyes search the open plan; your eyes are wide, as well as your mouth. 

"Mr Hux - where -," your eyes catch a glint of red, folded upon the couch. "Sir?"

There's a grumble, and treading carefully over the sheets of manuscript, you find him. Armitage Hux is in an odd position, curled into his tall form like a kitten with separation anxiety from its mother. There is facial hair growing where it hadn't been a day ago, and his neat crop of red locks is wild like fire. Beside him tipped sideways on the carpet, is many a bottle empty of whiskey. They are staining the design an unpleasant shade of brown. For a moment, you consider your employer; should you leave him to his imminent hangover? Tidy and return later?

No. 

Your employer's eye opens a crack, his bright cyan eyes assessing you in a groggy state. 

"Miss _______?" he groans, rising from his position, shoulders up first. "What - time is it?" 

You take a glance around the dirtied place, and then to your wrist watch. "It's five minutes past six, Mr Hux, sir," you reply, and watching him straighten his form, you wince as he sways. "What happened, sir?" 

"I write words," Armitage Hux whispers.

His eyes lock with yours, and in them, you see a melancholy you haven't seen in ... years. Not since you had first came to work for him, when he had been a newly made book-writer, and you had been hired by his father to become 'proper' like himself. He had been a small, scrawny thing, mimicking his father's stern tone, excising a schedule that even for you as a studied writer yourself, seemed outlandish. He had looked at you with his wide, green eyes that sparked such pity inside your stomach, and now, the same look is there again. 

"I write empty, useless words," Armitage goes to stand, legs unsteady. You're unsure whether to aid him, or not, and opt the former. As your hand steadies his form, his hair falls into his eyes. "These words are meaningless, and float around and they're not real. It's just words." 

You frown, "But sir, you're an author, you must write words," you tell him. Slowly, leading your boss to the breakfast bar, you add, "These words, is it because you're behind on schedule? Or upset about the success -,"

Your boss shakes his head, and grabs the coffee cup from where it landed upright. "No. None of that."

Seeing he's seated on a stool, you fumble in his sparse fridge for an ice pack. "Here, this might help with the dizziness. I'm going to make you breakfast, it'll make you feel better."

"Why?"

You turn, and still. Never in his life as your boss has Armitage Hux Jnr., the heir to his father's literary success and hard-headed proud writer to seventeen best-selling novels worldwide, ever questioned you. Well, maybe once when you offered to take the overflowing rubbish to the street last year, but never in a way which makes you heart twinge. 

"What do you mean by that, sir?"you frown.

He sighs. "You're always going out of your way to make sure I'm alive. And writing. It's like I've got a grown-up version of a nanny, except, you care?" he drains the paper cup of coffee, and with a sigh, adds, "I've always been suspicious of you, you know, Miss _______. You and your kind smile and the way you're just ..." Armitage frowns, "Adorable?"

You turn to the stove, and begin preparing to make scrambled eggs. "You don't mean that, sir, you're - most probably still drunk from last night." you say over your shoulder. 

Grabbing the last egg and drop of milk from the fridge, you prepare the dish, and by the time the pan is heated and toast toasting, you turn to your boss. His eyes are closed, and hair over the brow, face blushing a brilliant shade that shows on his pale skin. He looks near human, like this; it's a nice look on him.

"_______?"

Your heart stops. Never in his life has Armitage Hux Jnr. ever called you that. It was always 'Miss ______', and at first, 'ýou'. 

Still keeping an eye on his breakfast-to-be, you turn ever so slightly to face him. "Yes, sir?"

"Why do you call me sir? You've always done it, and it's nice, you know, it makes me feel proper, like a real gentleman or something, but I can't - can't help but wonder," he takes a deep breath, "If you would stop doing it."

Your eyes widen, and turning off the frying pan, your heart stops once more. "What - why would I do that? Is this you asking me to quit my job, si - I mean, Mr Hux?" You swallow, and add, "Because, I don't want to quit this. I love my job."

The redheaded man takes a deep breath. 

You turn back to the breakfast, and dish upon a plate, toast and a scrambled egg, as fluffy as they had been when you had been a child. You feel inside your chest a twang, like something is breaking very close to, if not your heart, and you bunch your fingers into fists to keep the emotions within you. No. Your boss can do whatever he wants with you, professionally. If he wanted you to stop addressing him as 'sir', and start kissing the ground on which he walks on, you will. Even if it means he replaces you with a less emotionally attached assistant. 

"You do?" Armitage whispers.

"Eat, before it gets cold." You nod, and gesture to the plated breakfast, and add, "Yes, I love my job. I love seeing how single words from mid air transform into passages of books, and how you see the world - I love being your shadow, it's comforting, almost." you confess as your employer devours the eggs on toast. "I love seeing you everyday."

Armitage pauses. "You love - me?" 

Your face transforms into a shade of something very red. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, that's very not work appropriate," you gush, and turn back to the stove to hide your face. "Oh my gosh, I -," 

"Do you mean it?" he pushes the question.

Taking a deep breath, you turn to face Armitage Hux Jnr., the most talented author anyone has seen since his father's success years ago. The face of which is on more backs of books than anyone could count, the face of which had pushed you to continue your job, continue trying your best, continue on - because since the first time you began working for Armitage, you had fallen for him, in all his red headed-ness and gangly stature and his many sweater-shirt combinations. 

"Yes, I do." 

You turn back to face him. Hux is standing before you, having silently navigated the breakfast bar. His face is rosy, like yours, but in a different way; a way in which makes you think of the lover in his latest book, who is chasing a saint-like woman who is close to him, chasing her to replace the loneliness in his life with love. Maybe he's written you into his life. A writer does not do that to people they loathe. 

"If it's okay with you, I'm going to kiss you," Hux's breath is hot, and warms your neck as he stoops to your level, "Because I love seeing you too, everyday."

"God, you're a wordsmith," you grin, and grabbing his neck, the two of you collide in passion.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


End file.
